I try to bring myself back to when I stopped writing.
When the flow and ebb of rhyming words, rhythms, and emotion turned into a trickle,
And then faded away.
I try to bring myself back to that last poem,
But it’s too painful.
I remember words pouring out of me in a river of hurt.
I remember tears stinging at my eyes while I typed.
I remember the relief I felt to get words down,
To express myself in what was once the only way I knew how.
Apparently I lost the need for such emotional release.
Or perhaps I found another outlet.
It’s sad in a way,
Watching a part of my art,
A part of my soul drift off into the ether.
I’ve been contemplating lately...
Perhaps a rebirth is in order.